the dance of the ink riddled fingers

chapter one in a tale of two or three

Posted in pin the tail on the love by enisea on 07/12/2011

For the guilt of my neglect of type I will spill a little of my humiliation here, just so you don’t think I’ve become uninspired and settled into a comfortable rut known as “coupledoom” (coupledom/coupledoom, get it? Heh).  This might shock you, but my excessive talkativeness has sort of dissipated in my dumbly stunned state.  I sort of find myself just wanting to tell him fun facts of my day and not really engage in conversation.  For example, on Sunday night, on the phone (an hour after seeing him mind you – pathetic, I know) I honestly just wanted him to do all the talking because suddenly I felt no need to say anything, I felt no need to make my opinions known.  And if I had had it my way, I’d have been completely content just listening to him, and not replying – I did reply though, minimally when I thought it might be borderline rude not to pull a little weight in conversation.  What has become of me? 

For once I don’t need to be at the front portraying some got-it-all-figured-out, I-hold-my-own-fort, strong-and-immoveable persona – even if just with him.  It’s lovely being the weak one; it’s a relief.  And yes, you feminists out there, I am the weaker of us – and jolly well glad I am. My need is not just for someone who might love me, but for someone stronger: to build, challenge, protect and inspire me.  He’s a lot stronger than I think everyone else perceives, but as long as I know it, I suppose that’s all that matters.  It’s lovely finally allowing myself to (though reluctantly) be swept off my feet by a mere mortal (though I’m only half convinced he’s a mere mortal); basking in the ticklish turmoil that is enjoying the imperfection of another as awkward as I.  Oh and yes, it’s awkward. 

Hahaha, I can’t even look at him for very long.  He had obviously noticed – what, with his girlfriend of two weeks hardly maintaining eye contact.  So I thought I better disclose such, and did a couple of nights ago, lest he take offense.  Because you would’ve thought that having known him for about six or whatever years, I’d be used to his face – yet the last time I held gaze for about seven square seconds, I think about two fairies and half a unicorn were brought back from unbelieving extinction – (that night out in the city with the boys, and I, before he left for America and this whole thing snowballed).  Hahaha, I suppose one positive of hardly looking at him was that I hardly noticed the very noticeable chip on his front tooth that he’d managed to knock off at last Monday’s basketball game (I was the only one watching, cringe with me, and so instead of walking off the court when it happened, he kept playing because, well, I was the only one watching).

Hahaha, well yes, my sighs have been sighs of Finally.  Finally there’s someone a little less afraid of me.  Finally someone to tell me what’s so good about me, because I only ever heard it from somebody who’d heard it from somebody.  Finally not being so insecure or attention seeking because, well, apparently I don’t have to be.  Finally being able to leave the house with minimal effort, not having done my hair, still not caring for make up and not feeling any worse for it, because he’d still look at me, a lot.  Yeah, all of you chorus with the sickened choir of dry reaching and rolled eyes.

It’s funny though, I still don’t feel like I can lay claim to having “fallen in love”…

I suppose I always thought that “falling in love” would be a momentous tumble of emotion and euphoria, catapolting me into some inescapable destination that is Love country.  But it’s not like that – thanks a lot, Hollywood.  I find myself consciously placing one foot in front of the other, walking there.  And the strangest part about having finally resolved that you-know-what,-we’re-in-it-for-the-long-haul is that saying “I love you” has never been so foreign to me and/or reluctant .  It has never stuck to the back of my throat and made me actually turn over these three words each time I’ve been prompted to say it to him, questioning “do I really?”. Obviously, having said it a handful of times by now, the answer’s maintained a steady “yes”.

But yes, this love (for me anyway) isn’t so much ‘fallen in’ as it is decidedly ‘walked to’.  Sure, at the moment the path is one of chocolate freckles and mother of pearl curbs, on an easy downhill incline… yet I still maintain it is one that is gird by decision every step of the way.  I had always imagined that once “In Love”, I would find myself instantly migrated to Lover’s Land, knowing the ways and culture of being one of two as though I once lived there.  As it so happens, I am new, awkward and very culture shocked by how much of my very independent and self protected nature is going to need re-evaluating because it’s no longer a tale of imperfect, perfectionist me and a perfect God

…it’s now perfectionist me, imperfect him and a perfect God.


(Ecclesiastes 4:12)

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